


A Terrible Lady

by StarkRogers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarkRogers/pseuds/StarkRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Copyright: This is an original work of fiction. Sherlock Holmes is public domain, making this piece of work legally mine. You may not reproduce or publish this work on any site or in any journal or any other form of media without my permission. However, the supporting plot for this fic is based on the movie Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows.</p><p> </p><p>What if the train scene with Holmes in drag had ended a different way? This fic was written when only the trailer for Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows was available.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terrible Lady

It wasn't accidentally bursting in on Holmes in a dress that did it. It wasn't the horrid make up. It wasn't even the detective's mildly irritated and slightly embarrassed tone of voice when he said "May we get on with things?". No, it was instead when Holmes suddenly threw off the top of the dress that Watson lost all sense of control. 

"WHAT are you laughing at?" Holmes demanded, turning to look at Watson while struggling to free himself from the maddening confines of the frilly skirts still tangled about his legs. Watson was laughing too hard for Holmes to understand what the doctor was attempting to say, but he managed to catch one word:

"Red!?" 

Holmes pressed his lips together and straightened up with as much dignity as he could, giving up for the moment and leaving the dress half on. Watson managed to calm himself enough to speak coherently, which was a good thing because Holmes had no intention of encouraging the doctor's teasing.

"Red. Women's. Knickers. Holmes, you really… don't ever do things half way, do you?" Holmes found himself struggling to find a proper comeback, which was rather unsettling, seeing as he was usually the verbose one and Watson the silent, steadfast companion. He decided to blame it on the dress. "And those boots," Watson continued, sensing his advantage. "Honestly Holmes. What on earth were you thinking?" he asked, continuing to chuckle.

"And what should I have worn, Watson?" Holmes sniped back, pacing the small room. And by pacing, he really just took one step forward, spun, and took another step before spinning back around, the dress swirling around his legs. The case, the case… He'd learned something important and forgotten it when Watson had burst in. Now he couldn't remember!

"Heels?" Watson suggested, still grinning like a mad man.

If possible it seemed as if Holmes' lips pressed even tighter together as he glared at the doctor. "Do you really think fine ladies have heels sitting around that would fit me? I had a hard enough time finding a dress. Now quiet, I need to focus." He added, turning away. Watson, of course, paid no heed to the detective's shallow attempt to change the topic of conversation.

"I can just imagine you rifling through women's luggage looking for something of your… girth." Holmes stopped pacing as he heard a certain darkness in Watson's voice. He looked up at the doctor, who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed and a cocky look on his face, his cane propped against a set of crates. Holmes' bottom lip twitched in a bit of a smirk.

"I don't think that girth is something one takes into account when sizing dresses, Watson." Watson chuckled again, but it was quieter this time, more subdued than the uncontrolled laughter of before.

"I should hope not. It would unsettle most chaps." Watson sighed, and shook his head. "You make a terrible lady, Holmes." He added. Holmes sat down on the crates and leaned against the wall with one arm, looking up at Watson.

"Really. And which parts do I fail at most spectacularly? I ask for research purposes, of course." He writhed around a bit, pressing his head against Watson's thigh in a way he could only imagine was ladylike, and batted his eyes a bit. Watson smirked and pushed Holmes' head away, leaning over and holding the detective off balance with a hand on his chin. 

"Your make-up looks like a clown." Watson started, brushing his thumb against the horrifying shade of red Holmes had smeared over his lips. Holmes tried to open his mouth to nip at the offending digit, but Watson moved it to the detective's cheek, leaving a red streak behind. The doctor continued his critique, forcing Holmes back farther and farther as his hands moved down the detective's chest. "Whatever it was you padded the top of the dress with, you were terribly uneven." Watson trailed his thumb over a nipple and Holmes jumped, the red lipstick still staining everything the doctor touched. "And you couldn't be bothered to wear a corset? It would have helped with your hourglass figure… or lack thereof."

The doctor smirked, trailing light fingers down the sides of Holmes' stomach. The muscles tightened involuntarily and the detective gave a grunt. He held himself up with one elbow as Watson's hands slid down over the thick fabric gathered around Holmes' hips. Holmes watched with fascination as the doctor's hand slid down over his thigh, gently smoothing the fabric of the skirts. He half wondered if this was how it looked for the dozens of ladies the man had surely "explored" during his tour of duty overseas. Holmes had one foot propped up on the crates, the other was planted firmly on the floor. As such, the skirts had fallen down - up? a bit, revealing a boot and his knee. Watson looked up and caught Holmes staring. The detective blushed and Watson laughed.

"I don't need to be you to guess what you're thinking." The doctor said. "You're wondering what it would look like if I were to go beneath these skirts, don't you?" He asked coyly, running the back of his hand up the inside of Holmes' raised thigh.

"If you're a psychic now then get on with it!" Holmes said, his biting reply ruined by the breathlessness with which it was delivered. Watson simply continued to grin in a lop-sided way that implied he had many plans, none of which involved giving Holmes exactly what he thought he wanted. Instead, he nuzzled his cheek against where the skirts and Holmes' knee met, still gently stroking the inside of Holmes' thigh with the back of his hand, fingers teasing against the thin fabric of the red knickers. "Watson," Holmes warned, losing patience. Watson replied by laying a chaste kiss against the soft hollow of Holmes' bare knee, his mustache stickling the tender skin. Holmes shifted above him, squirming impatiently.

Unfortunately for Holmes, patience was something Watson had a great deal of, and so he continued his teasing at his own pace, which was to say, tortuous. He trailed kisses up Holmes' thigh, hearing a quiet gasp from the detective above as his head finally disappeared beneath the skirt and petticoat. He felt tender and hesitant fingers brush against the back of his head, but they let off as Watson's head dove deeper beneath the skirts. 

"Watson…" Holmes moaned, his breath catching as the doctor's head slipped completely out of view. He drew his arm back at let it rest against his stomach, still propped up on his other elbow. Watson was underneath there, doing things Holmes could feel - vividly- couldn't see. His eyes rolled up in his head and choked on another moan as the doctor finally pressed his hot mouth against Holmes' erection, freely growing in the plentiful space provided by the knickers. Watson assaulted the detective through the fabric, kissing, sucking and biting until he felt the detective's finger's curl back around the back of his head, and he was pressed firmly into the detective's groin, crushing the skirts down around his head. 

Holmes' thighs trembled around him. The detective seemed satisfied to just rut against Watson's face, but the doctor had better plans. He reached up and freed Holmes from the knickers, which stopped the thrusting for a moment as Holmes' hormone-flooded brain caught up with the change of sensations. Before he had a chance Watson had taken him in his mouth, and it was all Holmes could do to resist the urge to smash the doctor's face all the way down. He couldn't control his leg as - boot and all - it curled over Watson's shoulder.

"Oh god, John!" He gasped, his face flushed with the sensations flowing from his groin. Every time he looked down he felt another jolt that made his stomach clench. The skirts bunched up around his waist, John's head completely hidden with just the wide strong arc of his shoulders and back showing, kneeling on the floor… the entire image was more than he could handle looking at for more than a few seconds before he had to close his eyes and moan. He shuddered as his hips began twisting, trying to speed up the traumatizing slow pace set by Watson.

The doctor was having none of Holmes' impatience. Aside from that it was becoming rather too warm and damp beneath the skirts. He needed fresh air. Holmes slipped from his mouth with a filthy popping noise and a whine that was most definitely unladylike. Before Holmes had much time to protest, Watson yanked the skirts off, tossing them to the side. Stunned, Holmes managed to speak something nearing English.

"How did you…" He'd had so much trouble getting those on and he'd given up removing them, yet Watson had pulled them off as if they were insubstantial.

"Practice, old boy." Watson replied, folding the shuddering detective in half over the crates, kissing him deeply. The lipstick on Holmes' lips smeared even worse than before, covering both of their lips in a ghastly rouge. The doctor reached a hand down to stroke Holmes, rubbing his own confined erection against Holmes' ass. They quickly adapted a brisk business-like pace, kissing in between gasps for air. Holmes locked his hands against Watson's head, holding him there. 

"Yes, come on, Holmes." Watson rasped, taking the detective's mouth with his own again, eating his own Christian name as it poured from Holmes' red-stained lips.

"Oh John- John oh John-" Holmes babbled against the doctor's mouth, unable to decide if he wanted to kiss, speak, or moan hopelessly as he came ever closer to completion. He finally gave up all but one, and settled on moaning with his head thrown back, the doctor nursing him along by sucking on his neck, sending shivers down to his groin that competed with the shivers radiating upwards. It all met somewhere around his clenched stomach, and suddenly he forgot how to breathe, such things becoming completely unnecessary as his world narrowed down to the fantastic sensation of his cock sliding back and forth in Watson's slick hand. He bucked, his body seizing as he came in waves, the aftershocks being pumped out by the relentless doctor. Finally Watson collapsed on top of him, and Holmes let his arm hang out flatly over the edge of the crates. 

They panted heavily for several minutes, and then Watson shifted, raising himself slightly, wiping at Holmes with a handkerchief. 

"Thank you," Holmes said hoarsely, taking over with his other hand. When he was clean he tucked himself away. Watson lay back down on top of him, and Holmes was quite happy to keep his legs locked over the doctor's shoulders. They lay there for a few more moments, and Holmes idly twisted the handkerchief in his hand. Suddenly he froze, half raising his arms at a sudden though.

"Wait!" Holmes cried, but Watson was too slow to catch on. Holmes slipped his legs off the doctor's shoulders and pushed him bodily away with his arms, swinging around to a seated position. 

"Wait what?" Watson complained. He was still painfully aroused, and didn't appreciate being tossed about like a common criminal.

"The handkerchief! That's what it was I'd forgotten." Holmes leapt to his feet and swung open the door of the train car. Watson followed, yelling incredulously over the roaring of the wind and the clattering tracks.

"Where are we going!?"

Holmes didn't reply, and simply pulled himself out the door, sliding along the outside of the moving train. Watson sighed, and after a moment to pray for his own sanity, followed.


End file.
